“[E]very lynching deprives its victim of his life
without due process of law, and denies him an equal protection of the law. The
States are charged with punishing all such invasions as the common rights of
the citizens, but some of them have failed in their effort to do so, and others
have not honestly tried. Meanwhile, lynchings continue, and though they do not
increase in number, they show some tendency to increase in savagery.
“To large numbers of American citizens life in
certain parts of the country becomes intolerably hazardous. They may be seized
on any pretext, however flimsy, and put to death with horrible tortures. No
government pretending to be civilized can go on condoning such atrocities.
Either it must make every possible effort to put them down or it must suffer
the scorn and contempt of Christendom.”—H.L. Mencken, statement before a subcommittee of the Senate Committee on the Judiciary, 74th Congress, February 14, 1935
On this date in 1922, the U.S. Senate faced an
opportunity not unlike the one presented to the House of Representatives in
January 1865, as depicted in the Steven Spielberg film Lincoln: the chance to improve the lives of African-Americans, in
the most meaningful way. Unlike the Civil War Congress, however, which would
narrowly vote in favor of the 13th Amendment, the Senate could not
override determined opposition to a bill making lynching a federal crime.
A little over 12 years later, when the acerb
essayist H.L. Mencken appeared
before Congress to testify in favor of a similar bill, the legislation should
have faced better prospects, as it occurred in the midst of a more liberal
Presidency.
But Franklin D. Roosevelt gave Mencken even more reason
to hold him in contempt. Unlike the columnist, who had, for the past several
years, been writing searing denunciations of lynching as a violation of the 14th
Amendment and urged its criminalization, the President, fearful of alienating
Southern allies in his New Deal coalition, lent the legislation no material
support.
The same could not be said for Warren G. Harding, a Republican predecessor derided, then and now,
as a conservative with a tin ear for words. (Mencken himself, deriding his oratory
as “Gamalielese,” wrote that it was “so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into
it.”)
But let’s give credit where it’s due: In October
1921, following a campaign in which he had been smeared as possessing
African-American blood, at a time of rising Ku Klux Klan membership, in the
heart of Dixie itself, Harding delivered a speech in Birmingham, Alabama, in
which he lambasted lynching.
A year later—when he had less political capital
because of GOP reverses in the recent midterm elections—he sought to do
something about it while his party was still at full strength, before a new
Congress was seated. He threw his support behind a bill, sponsored by
Republican Congressman Leonidas C. Dyer of Missouri,
making lynching a federal crime.
Dyer’s bill had already passed the House, but it
became bottled up in the Senate, whose Southern members joined a nonstop parade
of procedural slowdowns and filibusters to bring matters to a standstill. In early
December, the effort collapsed.
If the failure of the measure had any good effect, it might have been in shining a light on a form of domestic terrorism which, as recently as 1920, had resulted in the deaths of two African-Americans every week, according to the NAACP (National Association for the Advancement
of Colored People). Thereafter, Southern elites, embarrassed, began to shun the practice, and newspapers across the South began to crusade against it.
Perhaps FDR consoled himself with the thought that lynchings were on their way out. But two decades after the failure of the bill that Mencken supported and FDR refused to do anything about--and nearly 33 years after the Harding-backed measure died--14-year-old Emmett Till would be lynched after allegedly whistling at a white woman. The widespread revulsion following the atrocity gave greater impetus to an even more widespread civil rights movement.
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